Рита Браун: Nine Lives To Die

“What could Tyler fear that he couldn’t tell his mother?”

“What if he has a good idea about how his father really died? And then there’s the ugly reality of those fingers.”

Father O’Connor whitened. “Yes, yes, of course. Harry.” He reached out and took her hand. “Perhaps we both might call on Deputy Cooper. Tomorrow.”

“Usually she tells me not to be so nosy.” Harry grimaced slightly.

They heard footfalls by the feed room, which had a large window in the door.

Esther and Al were walking through the beautiful stable, headed back to the dance floor in the arena.

Noticing that Father O’Connor held Harry’s hand, Al good-naturedly opened the door and said, “None of that.”

Esther slid in behind him, took Harry’s hand away from the young priest, her own hand covering the found gold bracelet on Harry’s wrist. “Now, Al.”

The genial coach slapped the priest on the back. “All in good fun, Father. Happy New Year.”

As he turned, Esther squeezed Harry’s wrist. “Happy New Year.”

Harry didn’t think a thing about it. She’d pay for that.

Light snow fell as Flo and Cletus drove in his old but serviceable four-wheel-drive Dodge truck, bought a year before he was fired from the school district in 1994.

“Go beyond the storage unit, go down the road, then turn to where the three abandoned schools are—you know, Random Row?”

“Okay. Flo, how long is this going to take, because this snow is going to come down harder.”

“Not long.” She held a powerful flashlight in her lap.

They turned on the snow-covered gravel road, reached the three old lovely schoolhouses: white-frame buildings with almost two-story floor-to-ceiling paned windows.

“Turn into the parking lot of the schools.”

Cletus did just that. He parked the truck and pocketed the key because he found if his elbow hit the door the wrong way he could lock himself out, shutting the door as he heard the click too late.

Flashlight on, Flo highlighted the snowflakes. Outside she slipped, as the lot hadn’t been plowed since the storms started. Numerous times the snows had melted a bit, and more snow packed on top. Flo pushed along, picking her feet up with care.

Cletus followed. Catching up, he walked beside her. She led him to a small shed at the back of the buildings.

Opening the door, she shined the flashlight on a skeleton, laid out, one arm missing from the elbow down.

“Flo, we need to go to the sheriff’s department.”

“No, Esther’s got everyone thinking I’m crazy. If they do believe us enough to come out here, she’ll blame this on me.”

He considered this. “I imagine you’re right, Flo. Al will back Esther up so it will be two against one. Does he know about this?”

Flo vigorously shook her head. “No.”

“Is it who I think it is?”

“Yes.” Tears rolled down Flo’s cheeks. “I didn’t kill Margaret, Cletus. I had nothing against her.” She took a shuddery breath. “But I helped Esther bury her body. I should have gone to the sheriff, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t turn on my sister, but now, now she’s turned on me.”

“Is this when you started to drift away? You know?”

She nodded. “Help me.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound.” He turned up the collar of his threadbare coat.

“I have a plan,” Flo quietly said.

That New Year’s Eve, Margaret Donleavey made yet another journey. Covering the bones in an old tarp and coat, Flo and Cletus drove her to Harry’s farm. They propped her up against the barn door, the Chinaman’s hat shining over her. Flo arranged the loose bones as best she could.

Then Flo returned with Cletus to his house to hide out. She figured she could call Cooper tomorrow. Yes, the deputy would eventually speak to Esther, but if Flo could just state her case, all might be well.

For the first time in twenty-five years, Margaret Donleavey was aboveground—a social occasion of sorts.

“I thought we’d never get out of there.” Harry stretched her legs as far as she could in the Volvo station wagon.

With the windshield wipers on high speed, Fair drove at thirty-five miles an hour. “If we’d stayed until midnight and rung in the New Year, we’d have been there until three in the morning. For one thing, people trying to get out of the parking lot, loaded as they would be, we’d never make it. We’d be stuck.” He half laughed. “There were some happy people.”

“I swear, some of it is the relief that the holidays are over.” She peered into the darkness, snow falling harder. “We’ll be home right about midnight. No way you can drive fast in this stuff, and no way the road plows can keep up with it.”

“I just want to get home before someone else knocks over a telephone pole.” He checked the gas gauge. “We’re half full. Hours sitting at idle will wipe that out.”

“True.” She smiled. “What do you think of Father O’Connor?”

“I like him.”

“If he or Father O’Brien heard a confession from a killer or the killer, would he keep it to himself?”

“Yes. They have to, honey.” He squinted into the darkness ahead. “Do you think he knows more than he indicated to you?”

“I hope not, but I believe the root problem is at St. Cyril’s.”

“That’s a depressing thought.” He slowed for a curve. “Rats.”

Harry leaned forward as she saw the flashing lights. “Looks like we can eventually get by.”

That eventuality took a half hour. A car had slid off the road. Half was in one lane, and while there wasn’t much traffic, cars began to form a longer line waiting for the police cars to get out of the way. By the time the Haristeens chugged down their driveway, it was 12:30. They’d heard the bells, whistles, and firecrackers earlier while waiting in the car.

“It’s going to be a good year,” Fair wished.

“Don’t we hope that every year?” Harry smiled as they approached the barn, and the headlights flashed on a gruesome sight. “Fair, what’s that?”

Harry jumped out of the car as soon as Fair came to a stop. As she wore her cowboy boots, she slid in the snow, her feet moving in opposite directions. Down she went.

Fair reached her as she managed to get on all fours. Putting his hand under her armpit, he hauled her up.

The two of them approached the barn doors.

Margaret’s eye sockets, filled with snow, stared back at husband and wife.

“It’s the skeleton from the tree!” Harry felt the cold enveloping her feet.

“Missing part of an arm.” Fair brushed snow from his eyelids. “I never thought we’d see this again. I never wanted to.”

Tucker charged out of the house. “Flo and Cletus. Old truck. We came out. I barked.”

Surfing through the ever-deepening snow, Mrs. Murphy joined her corgi friend. “They didn’t touch anything, go anywhere. Just leaned these bones against the door.”

“Let’s go inside, honey.” Fair, hand still under Harry’s arm, walked his wife to the porch, animals stepping in their prints.

“Fair, shouldn’t we move that person inside?” Harry fretted.

“No. Whoever that is can’t feel a thing. Let Cooper handle this. We can enter the barn through the back doors if she can’t get here until later tomorrow.”